Page 9 of Wolfhaven

“Marina?” he croaked. Nausea overtook him. Bile surged up his sternum. Burning. Acid in the back of his throat. He swallowed hard and forced it back down, but a second later it was back with greater force. He clung to the cold marble with desperation and emptied the water he’d consumed into the crazed porcelain sink. Slowly, he slipped down and down, until his knees cracked painfully on the stone. The last sound he heard as he lost his grip on cold stone was the thud of approaching footfalls, like the arrival of death itself.

He welcomed it. The world went black.

Gareth awoke to darkness, surrounded by soft bedding. He was in his room with the cracked plaster ceiling and the ormolu clock that had stopped with the hands at precisely 11:26. Whether it had stopped in the morning or evening did not matter. Only what he might be able to sell it for.

He sat up and found himself alone, shirtless, and wearing only his trousers. His head throbbed.

“How the blazes did I get here?” he muttered out loud.

“I helped you,” said a female voice from the deepest shadows near the window. Gareth startled. “It was the least I could do after striking you with a chestnut and making you fall off your horse.”

Marina? Her name was on the tip of his tongue, but a different one burst past his lips. “Evaine?”

After a tense pause, a match flared to life. She bent to light a candle, casting a huge, hunched shadow across the bare, cracked wall, and said coolly, “Miss Ballard to you, my lord.”

“Gareth to you, Miss Ballard. I loathe my title.”

“I see rest has not improved your attitude.” Those aquamarine eyes bore into him, ocean-blue in the low candlelight.

“My attitude is fine.” How much time had he lost thanks to her reckless tossing of large seed pods? He had meant to finish his inventory and leave today. He wasn’t meant to linger in this wretched place. He was here to finish picking its carcass clean and set the place alight. He pushed himself upright. “What are you doing here?”

“As I said, I followed you. On foot. I was quite a bit slower than you were with your magnificent horse.” She sat back down in the rickety chair with a creak.

“He’s only rented. I don’t own the damn animal.” Not that it mattered. He struggled to corral his thoughts. They were like kittens playing with a ball of yarn—tangled and rolling away before he could catch them. “How did you get inside? I told you to stay away.”

“You left the door unlatched. I am not very good at following orders, Your Grace.”

“You walked into my house without permission.” He swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Miss Ballard rose abruptly.

“Don’t get up. You have a concussion. You need to rest.”

“Are you a medical doctor, Miss Ballard?”

“No, but I am not an idiot, and anyone can see that your pupils are two different sizes. Now drink this and get back into bed.”

She thrust a spoonful of bitter-smelling medicine at his mouth. Despite his conviction that she was trying to kill him, he parted his lips and swallowed the bitter brew. “What is it?” he demanded, gagging on the stuff.

“Laudanum, mostly. With a bit of alcohol and herbal syrup to hide the taste.”

“Doesn’t work,” he grumbled.

“Not particularly, no.”

“Why do you have it?”

“Patent medicine? For my grandmother’s cough. It won’t go away. She is recovering from a long illness. If you’re adequately settled until morning, I should get back to her.”

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Gareth didn’t want his visitor to leave just yet. “Stay,” he commanded. As if she were a dog. To his astonishment, she sat down in the chair she had dragged close to the window.

“For a little while. Until you sleep again. You should drink some tea. It’s cooled. Helps with the aftertaste.” She held a cup out to him.

He drank that, too. His belly rumbled audibly. He had lost his breakfast at his father’s grave and hadn’t eaten anything since.

“Is there food in the house?” she asked. He found himself grateful for the lack of judgment in her tone.

“Kitchen,” he said tersely. “I don’t keep food in my bedroom.”

“A rather grandiose description for such a hovel.” She gazed up at the cracked plaster ceiling and followed a patch of water stain on the wall down to the wainscotting.